


Feast and Famine

by bluebright_l



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-19
Updated: 2012-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:54:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebright_l/pseuds/bluebright_l
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon has a serving maid, and decides to share with Robb. At dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feast and Famine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoulOfSnow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulOfSnow/gifts), [Nomme_de_Plume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nomme_de_Plume/gifts).



The Great Hall had been empty when Theon had snuck in, searching out a warm spot to sit and fletch a few arrows. He had been training in the yard, holding his own against the heir and the bastard, until their father had come, summoning them to the heart tree to pray. His fingers tightened a moment on the arrow he was holding at the memory of being left standing alone in the yard, old Rodrik Cassel dismissing him without a backward glance.  Not that he had the slightest inclination to pray to a tree, or anything really, but it was just the point of the matter.

Theon smiled, setting the thought aside with the arrow, as a pretty kitchen maid entered the hall and began setting the high table for dinner.  The girl had been resisting his advances for weeks, but he could tell she wanted him. She just didn’t want to lose her place, she kept saying. Theon couldn’t understand it at all; he’d had half the maids in the castle, at least, and none of them had been dismissed. She was just playing a game with him, as far as he could tell, and it was one he intended to win.

He rose from beside the fire, long legs crossing the hall in a few strides, and pressed against the girl as she bent over the table to smooth out the table cloth.

“Jeyne, my sweet,” Theon’s voice was low, one warm hand resting on the small of the girl’s back.

“I am Jenny, if it please m’lord.”

The girl’s voice was playful, and her eyes had a spark in them as she craned her neck to look at him, auburn curls shifting over her shoulder with the motion.  Theon’s stomach flipped pleasantly, and his mouth quirked into a smile at the thought of burying his hands in that hair and giving it a good tug; he tried, and mostly succeeded, in not thinking about why he was so intent on this girl with her auburn curls.

“It matters little to me, girl. Jenny, Jeyne...whichever it is, you’ve got a lovely arse. Now...”

He was sneaking her skirts up as he spoke, encouraged by her saucy tone and flushed cheeks, and she was squirming against him most delightfully, but she put a hand out to still his suddenly.  Theon’s hand clenched hard in the fabric of her skirts, and he was about to continue on regardless, though he much preferred a willing partner, when she spoke.

“Not like this, m’lord...I’ve just set the table!”

The girl’s voice, Jeyne or Jenny, was full of laughter, and it bubbled over as Theon pulled her down to the high seat in the middle of the table.  “Oh, you are bold, aren’t you?”

He laughed to hear her laughing, falling back into the seat that thousands of years of Stark kings and lords had polished with their honourable arses, pulling her down onto his lap.  She shook her head, curls brushing his cheek, and knelt before him, fingers working at the laces of his breeches.  She went to pull his breeches down altogether, but he just left them loose ‘round his hips, pushing them down just enough to free his cock.

She giggled and gave the tip a lick, drawing a groan from Theon’s throat, before rising to sit back down on his lap. She sat facing him, knees on either side of him on the chair, teasing him with her slickness, but her eyes were a muddy brown, and it was annoying him.  Theon lifted her by the waist, spinning her ‘round and settling her down on him facing outwards, smiling at the way her back arched and a little whine escaped her lips as he slid into her.

He had her mass of auburn curls wrapped around one wrist, yanking her head back as she bounced on his cock wantonly, her skirts flipped up to reveal her perfect round arse, when she suddenly froze.

“M’lord...m’lord!” She hissed at him, thighs clenching against him to try and stop his movements.

“What is it, girl?” Theon was annoyed at the interruption, and carried on fucking, even though she was now trying to wiggle off his lap.

“It’s dinner, m’lord! Can’t you hear the family coming?”

Her voice was panicked, but Theon’s cock throbbed almost painfully at the thought of the Starks coming in to this particular scene: their lowly ward sitting in the high seat of the Starks, fucking a serving maid with Tully red hair. He almost lost it at that, imagining the way Lady Stark’s face would look, the deep blush that would stain Sansa’s cheeks, aye, and Robb’s, too.

“Get up,” he said, smacking her arse as he rose, tumbling her from his lap. “Under the table, and be quick about it, wench.”

Theon sat in his usual place near the end of the table, not bothering to lace his breeches, and beckoned her to kneel before him under the table. He could feel her trembling against his legs as the Stark family came in, laughing and wind-blown from the Godswood.  Nobody seemed to notice he was a bit early, not even the bastard Snow, who was always giving him suspicious looks.  When the girl took his cock in her mouth, lips creating a delicious suction, he managed to hide his sharp inhale with a cough, and was rewarded with a pat on the shoulder from Robb, who was sitting down beside him.

“Alright there, Greyjoy?” Robb’s face was ruddy and smiling, his too-long curls falling in his eyes.

Theon nodded, not trusting his voice as the girl drew her tongue along the length of him. Robb looked at him curiously as he sat, scooting his chair up to the table. As the legs of the heavy wooden chair scraped against the floor and Robb’s lap disappeared under the hanging tablecloth, Theon had a sudden thought.

He leaned forward and down, as if to scratch his leg, reaching under the table to grab the girl’s hand, clutching his calf.  With a slight movement, he pulled her hand over towards Robb, letting go to mime what he was suggesting, a loosely curled fist and a pumping motion.  With that, he sat back up, angling his chair slightly to aid the girl’s reach, sighing when her mouth resumed its previous labors.

Theon was hard pressed not to laugh when Robb suddenly sat straight up, cheeks blazing crimson. He clapped the younger man on the back, fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulder a moment longer than was strictly necessary.

“Alright there, Stark?” Theon’s tone was dry as dust, but Robb only nodded mutely, looking at him with a pleading expression that made Theon want to either laugh or come, or possibly both.

Not long after, he did come, harder than he ever had before, spilling into the girl’s mouth as she worked Robb’s cock. He slumped a bit in his chair and glanced around, the Stark family happily chattering away, not suspecting a thing. He gave the girl a lazy nudge with his foot, and felt her crawl over to finish Winterfell’s heir as she had its hostage.

Theon spent the remainder of the meal distracting Jon and the younger Starks, feeling oddly generous. When Robb reached over and gripped his knee, the heat of his palm seeping through his breeches, Theon merely smiled and tossed a roll across the table to Bran, drawing the attention of and scowls from Lord and Lady Stark alike.

Afterwards, in the warmth of their rooms, Robb had punched Theon square in the face, bloodying his lip. It didn’t wipe the smirk off Theon’s face for a moment.


End file.
